... in Rome and Naples

Adventures of the Anonymous in Rome and Naples

In hindsight, going to see Tosca with the mother the night before an early flight meant we didn’t get to bed before midnight, which was not ideal given the 3.30am alarm.

 

We left home a fraction later than planned and had an uneventful, straightforward drive to the airport where it all started to unravel a bit. The queue for the car park transfer bus was ominously long, and growing by the minute. We stood waiting in the freezing air for longer than expected until, finally, a bus appeared. However, there was no way that it could accommodate the waiting crowd. We needed to be on this one, so sharpened our elbows and prepared to throw women and children asunder if necessary. Our determined efforts paid off, and we boarded.

 

However, thing did not improve the airport. Fortunately we had no hold luggage to drop so didn’t need to contend with the mammoth queues that wound around the departures hall. Gatwick was having some improvement work done, which meant that for a while, service was materially worse. So the security screening process was a lengthy process. If we hadn’t been in such a hurry I may have taken more issue with the security woman who challenged my plastic bag of liquids. The fastening part of the bag had a grey strip through it – but the contents were clearly visible and not encroaching on the grey strip. However, the woman looked at it and, passing me one of their bags, informed me that liquids have to be in a clear bag. I picked up my bag and asked ‘so this isn’t see through enough’. No – it wasn’t. Because of the grey strip. Not having the time or inclination to get arrested by making a fuss, I changed the items into the new bag.

 

 

We finally emerged at the other end and saw that the gate for our flight had already been announced. However, we needed to collect euros and pick up a couple of things from the shops before setting off in the direction of the plane. And, typically, the gate was a lengthy hike away.

 

There was no time for breakfast – or (more importantly) a coffee. So it was a little annoying that we then sat on a stationary plane, still attached to the airport, for around 30 minutes before taxi-ing to the take-off queue and finally leaving the ground approximately one hour late. Our captain feebly explained that this was something to do with half term and the start of the skiing season. While these events were indeed true, it seemed highly improbable that the airport schedule had been comprehensively ignored on this account.

 

This did mean we had our first experience of buying food and drink on the plane. It seemed that we were not the only ones in this predicament because the cabin crew rapidly ran out of food and change – and spent most of the flight serving passengers rather than attending to whatever other vital safety requirements they should have been attending to.

 

 

When we landed the captain started a peculiar announcement, apologising for the delayed departure and lumpy weather en route, before rounding off with the words ‘swing low sweet chariot’ – which was greeted by a cheer from the passengers – before hastily signing off.

 

Once out of the airport we bought quattro biglietti and located the transfer bus into Naples centre. Once there, however, it wasn’t immediately clear where the station was. However, as most of the people on the bus were also aiming to travel to Rome, I decided to see where they headed. Confidently, they all marched off down the road. We followed – and sure enough, the station was directly ahead, slightly disguised by building work in the piazza in front of it. As we walked there, the sky darkened and fat rain drops started to fall.

 

Successfully navigating the ticket machines, we located the required binario and boarded the train. What we hadn’t realised – until some other lads boarded – was that there was an allocated coach and seat number on the ticket. We were in wrong place, so went for a little wander along the train before finally settling in for the hour long journey through the Italian countryside , the long scar of the X mountains to the side of us.

 

Arriving at Rome we got the bus into town. We were due to meet Miss Rosella to collect the apartment keys just after 2pm. That gave us about half an hour to kill, and it seemed appropriate to spend that time in Campo di Fiori having a much needed beer. Sloppy Sam’s – which we had made appropriate use of in our last visit (largely to access the Wi-Fi) seemed to have closed down. All the signage was still there, indicating a recent closure.

 

The appointed meeting time arrived so we wandered over to the apartment, which was on Corso X, just opposite Chiesa Nuova. Husband used the waiting time to meander down the road to the supermarket and pick up beer and wine. Then he wandered off again to pick up an arancini. We were hungry. He then texted Miss R – who immediately came down and appeared at the door. It was therefore possible that we could have done this 20 minutes ago rather than waiting outside all this time.

 

 

Huge wood doors opened from the street into a quiet, private courtyard inside with a water feature at one end. She directed us up the first floor and into the apartment. We looked out on to the Chiesa and had a comfortable two bedrooms, two bathrooms, living/dining room and small kitchen. There was Wi-Fi – but this seemed quite localised as the connection only seemed available in one room.

 

We decided to make a relatively quick turn around so that we had time to get to the market to forage for supplies and have lunch. There were some herbs we wanted to stock up on for home. But we decided to investigate some of the other offerings. The sale man held up spoonfuls of various other options for us to smell. I accidently inhaled a breathful – this is not something I would recommend. I spent the next half an hour sneezing and blowing herbs out of my nose. My handkerchief looked as though I had dropped it in grass cuttings. The shops had closed for siesta so we indulged in beer consumption and lunch until they opened, which allowed us to indulge in one of our favourite pass times – watching the chaotic market clear up which really looked more like robot wars between the miniature road sweepers than a concerted cleaning effort. It was a spectacularly inefficient process, the trucks going round in circles, making the piazza wet and largely ignoring the vegetable scraps. The cleaning trucks all had witches brooms on the back and I liked the fact that despite all other 21^st century advancements, there was nothing which quite replaced the functionality of a broom of sticks. Female bin ladies wandered around in a sultry fashion, wearing knee high hi-vis X over their green work clothes, nonchalantly dragging a broom behind, cigarette in mouth and swinging hips as though this was the pre-amble to a porn film. After some time, by luck or by judgement, the place was spotless.

 

 

I had Pizza Fiori for lunch, which seemed appropriate in Campo di Fiori. It comprised courgette flowers and anchovies and was consequently very salty.

 

As the shops were now opening up again we furnished ourselves with further supplies and returned to the apartment to watch the Wales v Scotland 6 nations game – with Italian commentary.

 

The apartment had some interesting decoration features. There was one reasonably sized photo frame attached to a chain which ran from ceiling to floor, with nothing in it. So you just had a really good view of the full length of the chain. Another, smaller frame was also empty. I say smaller – the aperture was smaller but the frame itself was reasonably chunky.

 

 

Now the tiredness caught up with me. I dozed through the match and finally conceded defeat by going to lie down in bed for a while. I woke, an hour or so later aware that Shrek and Princess Fiona had now arrived.

 

We then spent a few hours chatting and drinking before I decided that bed really was the sensible option. Sleep, however, was impossible due to the music and chatter from Husband, Shrek and Princess Fiona. At around 3am they also retired for the night – primarily due to the boys running out of beer, despite having popped out for more earlier in the evening. In his well pickled state Husband promptly fell into an alcohol induced stupor and snored loudly. Sleep was not going to be forthcoming and, annoyingly, despite knowing how tired I must be, I had never felt so wide awake.

 

I heard a noise in the living and going to investigate saw someone asleep on the sofa. I could hear Shrek snoring in a manner that implied some form of unknown noise competition between him and Husband, so assumed that Princess Fiona had removed herself from the din.

 

Shortly after that, finally and thankfully, sleep came. And shortly after that it was morning. I decided to get up and showered, and went to make myself a serious coffee while I waited for the others to wake up. When I went into the living room I noticed that the door was wide open. Initially I wondered whether Shrek or Princess Fiona had popped out but both sets of keys were still there. I closed the door and double checked that our worldly possessions were present and correct. I also now wondered who had been asleep on the sofa in the night. Perhaps it was someone from a neighbouring apartment who had wandered in whilst under the influence.

 

Like any decent Italian apartment, it was equipped with a coffee maker. So, while I waited for the others to wake up I made a coffee. The device made enough for 3 espressos. I put the entire contents into a mug, added some milk and drank the lot. Given how little sleep I had had over the past 48 hours, lethal amounts of caffeine were very much in order.

 

After a little while, the others started to rouse themselves. Husband and Princess Fiona appeared in the living room, so I put more tea and coffee on the go. This time I shared the coffee between me and Husband. From the breakfast table Husband and I had a view of the bedrooms, and small hallway outside the bathroom. Princess Fiona was sitting with her back to this. However, she could tell from our expressions that Shrek had got up and was wandering freely between bedroom and bathroom, bollock naked.

 

When Shrek subsequently emerged, fully clothed, we put on another round of coffee and this time split it between three of us. That would make it my fifth espresso of the morning.

 

With toast, cured meat and soft boiled eggs on the go, everyone seemed to start feeling a little bit more lively. I peeled my egg using the handle of a teaspoon, which made relatively short work of it. Shrek and Husband sat there, concentrating intensely as they picked away as the shells of their eggs which only seemed to want to come away in tiny segments, pulling at the white flesh beneath. They certainly looked like two men trying to attend to a complex task after a late night involving a lot of beer. When finally peeled, their eggs looked like something that had suffered from a serious case of the pox.

 

Public transport to Stadio Olimpico was possible, but not straightforward. There were various options, but all involved a bit of a walk to a bus, tram or metro (depending on the route we selected) which we needed to take for a couple of stops, and then change onto another bus which would take us near to the stadium, leaving us with a 10 to 15 minute walk. The entire process would take around an hour. So, we decided to take a taxi instead. And handily, there was a taxi rank just outside the apartment.

 

We were due to meet R2D2 and C3PO in the vicinity of Ponte Melvio for pre-game drinks. The taxi journey took us along the Tiber and past the stadium. The entrance buildings were a tired peachy colour and reminiscent of 1930’s splendour – and fascist power statement.

 

 

R2D2 and C3PO were in a bar and had commandeered a large table. Their criteria had been simple – somewhere that had beer, food and somewhere to sit. I wasn’t sure that I was ready for alcohol just yet, but the boys broadly picked up from where they had left off last night. We asked R2D2 and C3PO what they had been up to so far during their long weekend in Rom. They had visited the Spanish Scaffolding and the Colosseum – R2D2 commented that the changing rooms were similar to ones he had been subjected to in his rugby playing days, and that he wished he had played there. We pointed out that games didn’t always end that well for the human participants.

 

The group decided to make a move towards the stadium. To one side there was a running track with stepped stone seating surrounding it and encircled by dozens of huge gleaming statues of nude, muscle bound men partaking in various sporting activities. A number of them had had their modesty covered in what was clearly a later addition. One or two of them seemed a little fay – catering to the Graham Norton contingent, Shrek pointed out. Shrek was overcome by an urge to pose in front of the statues – if there had been fewer people around, he probably would have taken his kit off to demonstrate how equal a match his body was.

 

 

The crowds were building, and we could hear the sound of lively music. Then we saw a brass band which included fully grown men wearing 10 foot high peroni beer bottle costumes and holding vast quantities of red, heart shaped peroni balloons. Well, it was Valentine ’s Day.

 

This, we soon discovered, was the only thing that peroni did well. We went to the vast peroni beer and food tent. Buying was straightforward. Getting, however, involved joining a different queue. A long queue. There were various queuing options and it was unclear which one we were meant to join. So we split into two groups to hedge our bets. Half an hour later Husband and I had reached the front of our queue whereas Shrek and Princess Fiona had not moved anywhere. But when we got to the front, the man said that this was just for beer – the food queue was the stationary one. As kick off was about 15 minutes away, a bit of grumbling was expressed and finally food appeared. Husband’s considered opinion was that it wasn’t worth the wait. And it was still unclear why it had taken so long – behind the scenes we could see people frenetically preparing food, but it never seemed to reach the people outside. Shrek suggested that McDonald’s should take over as they had a better concept of providing fast food, with appropriate emphasis on the word fast.

 

We set off at a determined pace to get into the ground. As we got to our seats a helicopter flew low and slowly over the ground to much cheering – there was someone inside waving at the crowd. We had no idea who, but based on the reaction they were obviously popular. A loud rendition of swing low sweet chariot resounded around the stadium. There was a significant quantity of inglesi here. I, however, was supporting i fratelli azzurri. As was bear.

 

It was a pity to see large numbers of empty seats. Despite this, there was still a good atmosphere and plenty of noise. Husband was excited to see Victor Ubogu sitting a couple of rows in front of us.

 

It was a scrappy game, with the first half going much more in favour of Italy while England’s game was littered with carelessness. But following an interception try for England in the second half, things turned around resulting in a convincing win for England.

 

 

We met at our agreed post game meet point – the peroni stand. We had selected this on the basis that we had spent so long there already, we were very familiar with it as a waiting place. R2D2 and C3PO were off for a romantic valentine’s dinner, but we met up with Shrek and Princess Fiona for the journey back. We hadn’t really thought much about how we wanted to get back but initially decided to walk, primarily to get away from the crowds and the hope of finding a bar which wasn’t too crowded. The main reason for this objective was that Shrek needed a pee. Such was his need that he was going to go in the shrubbery alongside the footpath. There were armed traffic police around so Princess Fiona and I suggested that this might not be wise as he might be arrested – or shot.

 

A few minutes further down the road – and out of sight of the police – he wandered towards a line of trees by the road. The rest of us kept on walking, trying to pretend that we had no idea what was going on. If necessary, we were willing to claim we had no idea who he was. But he did what he needed to do without incident.

 

We carried on walking and started to realise that we probably would walk all the way back. There were still traffic police trying to manage the crowds. As they were not in cars and therefore castrated by the absence of horns they made up for this loss with whistles instead. Rain started to fall at around the same time that we became aware we had been walking back on the wrong road and needed to do a bit of a left to get back on track.

 

As we had now broken the back of the walk home and the boys seemed to be tiring, Princess Fiona and I looked out for a bar. Happily, we soon found one and settled down in the seats outside. And it was there that Princess Fiona first tasted aperol spritz. Shortly followed by another.

 

We stayed for a few drinks and therefore had the inevitable trip to the toilet. Princess Fiona went, and very quickly came back. It seemed that the ladies had been occupied so she tried the door for the gents – which opened to reveal a man attending to his lavatorial business. Not wanting to wait outside for the ladies to become unoccupied in case of the embarrassment of seeing the man come out, she returned to the table. She was only really willing to go back in once the man had emerged. A little while later I went. The ladies was occupied but I knew better than try the gents. So I waited. And a minute or two later Shrek appeared from the ladies.

 

Our waiter gave us complimentary limoncellos and we continued on our way back, arriving before long in Piazza Navona. In the winding, narrow, cobbled streets between the Piazza Navona and Piazza Chiesa Nuova we found a contender for dinner, and sat as a table outside as – despite the period rain – it was still warm.

 

Shrek wanted anchovies so as well as antipasti starter we also picked and anchovy and endive pie for starter. It was surprisingly delicious and after devouring it between us Husband asked whether Shrek’s anchovy box had been ticked. This was met with much hilarity and resulted in a giggle strewn discussion about anchovy boxes in the widest sense.

 

The ladies loo also caused a stir as it has a mirrored loo seat which seemed like a peculiar option.

 

We had a few drinks and a good meal before the rain started to come down heavily again. As the side of the table where Shrek and I were was not quite under the cover of the canopy we were now being rained on it seemed like an appropriate time to walk the final few minutes back to the apartment, which I did by briskly walking to each shop canopy and pausing in the dry before scurrying on to the next bit of cover. It was after we got back that I remembered I had an umbrella with me.

 

Back at the apartment we sat down for a cup of tea, and shortly afterwards both Shrek and Princess Fiona fell asleep. I felt like smug parent who wanted a good nights sleep and had therefore deliberately tired out the children. Husband and I smiled at each other and we all retired to bed.

 

Our sleep was rudely interrupted early the next morning with a persistent banging and hammering from buildings in the apartment above.

 

So we all got up and had breakfast. Dealing with the boiled eggs was still an amusing affair. This time they were much hotter to hold, which added further difficulty in its own right. Shrek’s rolled his to break up the shell,  but then the egg broke in half as he tried to peel it. As it happened, he found that this made it much simpler to remove from the shell as he could simply scoop it out. When Princess Fiona attempted hers he mentioned that it was easier by having the egg in half. So Princess Fiona just cut hers in half. This wasn’t quite what we had meant.

 

Shrek then had a yogurt and commented that the crunch of egg shell in his yogurt was a little unexpected and unwelcome. I wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to contaminate his yogurt.

 

Princess Fiona and I took on the task of washing up. The kitchen cupboards has initially confused me. They had not handles. Instead there was a device inside so that when you pushed the cupboard in the right place, the door opened. And you pushed it back again to close it. This did involve knowing where to push which wasn’t always entirely clear. Anyway, while putting some of the plates away I managed to know this shutting device which promptly fell off. It took a minute or two to realise how it re-attached but before long the situation was fully rectified.

 

We went to Campo di Fiori in the morning to get some meats and herbs then parted company as Shrek and Princess Fiona wanted to see the Colosseum and forum. Husband and I decided to visit Chiesa Nuova as it was right opposite the apartment and we weren’t sure if we had been in it before.

 

We looked at the painted ceiling and the dormer windows along it. At we stood underneath one Husband commented that it looked wonky. He then noticed that the lintel was broken. I asked him if we were therefore standing in a dangerous place, right below it. Yes, he responded, so we promptly left. Seeing the scaffolding outside we realised that someone else had noticed the broken lintel as well.

 

We ambled towards Piazza Navona. The rain soaked cobbled streets glistened blindingly in the warm morning sun. Perhaps due to the weather there were hardly any artist stands in the Piazza but we looked at the wares of some that were there, and bought an oil on canvas painting of a scene in the vicinity of Campo di Fiori. At some point, we will need to find where this picture is of.

 

We then followed the well-trodden path to the Pantheon. The centre of the floor was roped off and wet being, as it was, underneath the deliberate hole in the concrete domed roof. Husband commented that the best part of a church is the dome and the Pantheon had taken this on board, and was, to all intents and purposes, just a dome. Working on the basis that another city existed below almost every street of Rome, I pointed out that there may be a whole, enormous church underneath if it was excavated.

 

 

We went on to Trevi fountain to throw money in and thereby ensure our return. The fountain had been cleaned, presumably in readiness for the tourist season ahead. The façade gleamed white and brightly and the turquoise water had a faint whiff of bleach. I wasn’t sure if I liked it quite so clean. We ambled round to the Spanish Steps and paused for a beer accompanied by complimentary snacks, which in this case were sandwiches made with multi coloured bread. Some slices were green and others were swirls of white and orange.

 

We meandered back to the apartment, window shopping in the tourist shops where I was slightly surprised by the presence of Pope Benedict lollipops, and questioned the appropriateness of this. We had a brief snooze before meeting Shrek and Princess Fiona in Campo di Fiori for drinks as they had recently returned from their sightseeing day out. The bin lorries were in the final stages of cleaning the square.

 

As we chatted I mentioned that I keep this blog and gave them the opportunity to select their own pseudonyms. So this was their choice.

 

As dusk fell a band struck up the middle of the square, playing music very similar to the Jeeves and Wooster theme tune. They played a tune for several minutes before it actually broke into the tune in question and something recognisable.

 

Our bar man seemed to have been time warped in from the 1970’s and seemed to be single handedly dealing with the entire establishment. The boys ordered up another round of drinks and then went to the nearby deli to get a hunk of parmesan to accompany dinner.

 

The boys cooked dinner that night with the aim of using up as much of the remaining food we had as possible. I suppose we were lucky then that they only used 1 bulb of garlic rather than 4. Shrek used some of the spicy herbs he had bought that morning. Bizarrely as we chatted on the sofa, Princess Fiona and I failed to notice him sidle past, whistling innocently, bag of arrabiata mix in his hands behind his back which he then ‘accidentally’ spilled into dinner. The supermarket shopping bags had a silky smooth latex feel to them which Princess Fiona now became familiar with. And we both gently stroked them for a while, to the bemusement of the boys.

 

I sorted out the mozzarella, fresh pesto and tomato salad, managing to break the waters of the mozzarella packet all over the kitchen floor.

 

As serving approached the boys drained the pasta. I suggested using the colander. They hadn’t noticed we had one, but had already drained it via other means.

 

Princess Fiona and I opened a bottle of wine each. The cork from my bottle immediately fattened on being removed and was consequently impossible to replace. As this was our last night that meant our only option was to finish the bottle or leave it behind the following day. So I used the cork from Princess Fiona’s bottle which meant that now she had the problem. The boys helpfully proffered the suggestion of wine for breakfast.

 

Dinner was delicious, and mildly spicy.

 

After dinner Princess Fiona started reading the guide book they had bought earlier that day. Shrek boasted that he had a reasonable knowledge of Roman history, so Princess Fiona decided to test him and looked through the book to find a tough question and finally settles on ‘when did the Visigoths sack Rome?’ Husband jokes that she needs to give Shrek a blowjob if he gets it right. 410 says Shrek. Princess Fiona can’t believe it. He’s spot on. Husband laughed, remembering the blow job penalty.

 

As the evening progressed Princess Fiona, feeling tired, said she was going to hit the sack. The Visigoth’s sack, we ventured and a chuckling Shrek pointed at his wedding vegetables.

 

The following morning we woke again to the sound of building work. Over breakfast Shrek commented that one could tire of hammering. We wondered why the work wasn’t finished, or even apparently progressing as the hammering seemed to be in exactly the same place. We mused that it could be criminal re-hab process to replace Hail Mary’s whereby one guy hammers nails in all day and behind him another man spends all day taking them out in a constant relay, day after day.

 

The flush on the loo had decided to break that morning, and was now constantly flushing. We wondered whether the workmen upstairs could fix it, but realised that the only tools they apparently had was a hammer and that perhaps applying a hammer to the situation was not going to make matters better. Given the spicy dinner the previous evening, and consequent biological processing from us that morning, it was perhaps possible that the loo had formulated its own self cooling device.

 

Husband sent a text to Miss Rosella to let her know that the flush had broken despite having pushed the button in the normal way. Princess Fiona wondered what pushing it an abnormal way would have involved.

 

Breakfast was our final chance to finish off the food we didn’t want to take with us as snacks on the train. This did involve Husband delving into experimental areas involving a sweet croissant filled with slices of salami and prosciutto. I reminded him that the croissant was sweet and even pointed out the lumps of crystallised sugar on the top but he was confident it would be ok, and added a gherkin just to be sure.

 

He barely grimaced when he ate it and this gave Princess Fiona the confidence to do the same, thinking that it could be too bad. She used a bit less meat filling and no gherkin. Consequently her reaction was a bit more extreme, giving the strong impression that the ham cake (as we now called it) was revolting.

 

Over breakfast Shrek decided that Italian was, broadly speaking, English with an i on the end. By way of example he read from the gherkin jar: ingredienti, anti oxidanti.

 

We packed up our stuff and the rest of the food for the train picnic. This included 3 bottles of wine, a jar of gherkins, dry pasta and a tea bag. The shopping bag Princess Fiona was using felt inadequate under the weight and she asked Shrek if he had another. He passed her one – but she asked whether he had a bigger one. We wondered if this was a common question, but were relatively confident that the usual answer was not ‘I’ve got another one’.

 

 

Being all ready to go, we decided to head off to the station. The bus took us on a bone shattering journey along the stone cobbled streets. A woman got on and mistook Shrek for an Italian – he was rather chuffed by this and I wondered whether it due to the very strong garlic aroma that must be emanating from him. Well, from all of us really.

 

At Roma Termini we were approached by a begging man, dragging around a child in designer clothes eating a panini and trying to look sorry for himself.

 

We took the slow train to Naples as we were in no rush, and the ticket price was cheap. It did mean that there was no seat allocation and as there were 4 of us plus luggage we got on the train early in order to secure our spot. For the first few miles we could see the periodic remains of the Roman aqueduct stretching out to the mountains. The journey took as through valleys, past vast stone quarries and again along the mountainous spine of Italy before the coast and sea appeared suddenly to one side of us. It was stuffy on board and notably hotter as we journeyed south.

 

About half way through the journey we decided to tuck into our picnic. Getting the final gherkins out of the jar ended up being a bit involved. The boys fingers were too chunky to fit into the jar. Princess Fiona’s did fit but were too short to reach the gherkins. With a bit of shaking and stirring, Shrek managed to successfully fish for the remaining few. So now we smelled of garlic and gherkin pickle juice. And we were spectacularly covered in crumbs.

 

Finally arriving at Naples we had a short, but hot walk to Hotel Columbo. And it looked as though we might need him. Naples was a dirtier and more aggressive city than Rome and our hotel was in a small road which looked particularly menacing. When we got to the door, there were workmen just inside standing on a scaffold doing some repair work. For a moment we therefore wondered if the hotel was actually open. As we stood in the street, momentarily confused, a man came rushing out asking if we were due to stay. Getting the builders to move to one side, we entered and checked in. It was nice to know that there was some building work and potential for hammering. The room had peach coloured walls, a bottle green polyester throw on the bed and very very lump pillows. But it was only for one night and fitted the bill. We weren’t entirely sure if the hotel was finished and nicknamed it Hotel Marigold. This opinion was enhanced when we walked down the stairs to the lobby – but couldn’t walk down all the way due to building work in progress.

 

 

We wandered into town and Shrek was keen to find some sandals as he had packed shorts but not accompanying footwear – and it was warm. We wandered into the market area where one of the shopkeepers was mortified by the enormity of Shrek’s shoe size. The concept of 47 virtually sent him into a seizure.

 

We wandered the narrow, hilly streets to the Centro Storico which were peppered with crazy, helmetless drivered mopeds and the constant sound of horns. The city comprised graffiti covered tall, rundown buildings. Accompanying this din were the strains of music from surrounding bars and music shops. We ambled slowly amongst the frantic pace of life in the historical centre. Having climbed up the hill into the centre, we then dropped down towards the port and view of Vesuvius looming in the distance.

 

 

We walked to Castel Nuovo and then took a taxi to Castel Uvo. On the road to the castle entrance a black man was selling his wares. He engaged us on conversation as we passed. He was from Senegal and complimented the beauty of me and Princess Fiona before warning that in his culture men who are bad to their women are cursed. As we left he reached into his pocket and gave both Princess Fiona and I a gift of a small blood red elephant statuette. Simultaneously we wondered if it contained cocaine. But then thought that this was possibly unlikely as he didn’t know when we were leaving or where we were flying to or even who we were – so collecting the goods would be nigh on impossible. Even so, we found it baffling. That in itself bothered us, that fact that in this day and age we couldn’t be given a gift from a stranger was quite simply just a gift. Our suspicions remained heightened. We wondered about leaving them behind and whether it would freak out the cleaner to find the same ornament in two, apparently unrelated rooms.

 

The castle was still open so we walked up the steep pathway to the ramparts from where we could see the sun setting over the city. We asked Princess Fiona if she wanted to challenge Shrek about the date of its famous eruption. She didn’t. The whole Visigoths situation had unnerved her somewhat.

 

Naples was not pretty, even at dusk and from a distance. Topping the hill above the city loomed the castle. The cannon on the ramparts were facing the city. Either this was in acknowledgement of the underlying tangible tension in the city and hard aggression of the inhabitants, or there was a genuine strategic purpose.

 

When Husband and I were last here the cafes and bars on the waterfront below the castle bustled with life. As we looked down on them from the castle walls they were largely closed for the winter. One or two were open, but sorely lacking in custom – and consequently, atmosphere.

 

We wandered amongst them anyway, just in case we had missed something. Also we were hoping to avoid running the gauntlet of the man from Senegal. It looked like we would be thwarted in our attempts to avoid him. There was a small stretch of water with a bridge over the top. Just over the bridge was our man. We momentarily contemplated swimming it, or borrowing one of the small boats. But we decided to brave the walk. I wondered whether he would summon the carabinieri and accuse us of theft. After all, we had his good and hadn’t given him money. Perhaps he would force us to buy something. However, just before his sales spot some steps led down off the road to the shore line the other side of the annoyingly placed piece of water. We were saved.

 

There was a bar along the waterfront and we decided to have a quick drink before heading back. There were a handful of other people there who were possibly also avoiding Mr Senegal. Shrek then wondered if the Senegal man was actually the catcher for this bar, forcing people to return on this route in order to avoid him.

 

 

As the sun set, the warmth of the day went with it so it seemed an appropriate moment to get a taxi back to the hotel and ready ourselves for dinner. Shrek sat in the front and found it to be the single most frightening experience of his lift. Firstly, the seatbelt didn’t work. Then the taxi driver seemed determined to create and drive in a third lane on the 2 lane road. But to top it off, the driver was totally untroubled by the frequent and erratic moped drivers crossing his path, very much taking the view that if there was a collision, the car was likely to win the encounter.

 

We found a fabulous little trattoria for dinner which reminded us of the place we had found in Bari. The antipasti were laid out on a central table for us to help ourselves and consisted of griddled courgettes, aubergines topped with tomatoes, mushrooms, broccoli, potato, olives and various other tasty morsels. We also had a plate of fresh mozzarella. We had pasta dishes for main course. Husband had polpetti past which was satisfactorily littered with little octopi. Princess Fiona squirmed a little. She didn’t like to eat anything that looked like the animal it had once been. We wondered how many babies an octopus had at a single sitting. Shrek said that if he gave the correct answer, would Princess Fiona need to give him sexual favours. Princess Fiona was unwilling to take the bet – getting increasingly concerned about the extent of Shrek’s knowledge. Princess Fiona, Husband and I decided to have pudding but Shrek wanted to have a meat course instead – so had pork while we tucked into ice cream. A fun little old man was serving who reminded Princess Fiona of Pinocchio’s father, Guiseppe. In the street outside there seemed to be an incident kicking off. Groups of people were standing around threateningly. It all seemed like a good reason to stay put and enjoy the evening with coffee and grappa.

 

There was a small convenience store just up the road selling bottles of beer cheaply. So the boys pick up a few and we went back to the hotel to sit on one of our rooms for a few drinks. We were clearly the only guests because when we went to reception we were greeted by someone we hadn’t seen before who immediately took out the keys for our two rooms without us uttering a syllable.

 

Princess Fiona and I tucked into her carton of white wine which we drank out of plastic cups. I’ll be honest – I’ve drunk nicer wines. While the whole set up was a long way from being classy, it was very reminiscent of student days.

 

The beer had been provided in one of the silky smooth latex bags. Princess Fiona sat on the bed, stroking it and I wondered whether she would be as keen to stroke it if it was being ‘worn’ by the sack of Rome. We returned to our room for our final night, Husband grabbing the bag on the way.

 

We met early for breakfast as Husband and I needed to get the bus back to the airport for our plane home. Shrek and Princess Fiona weren’t leaving until the evening and intended to go the Herculaneum, so again, an early start suited them. Breakfast consisted of bread, cakes and yoghurt. We were asked if we wanted coffee. Despite all wanting black coffee with milk, what arrived was a cappuccino, an espresso and a latte. Princess Fiona attended to making toast – the first round was a little pale, the second round was close to being burnt to a crisp. It was certainly crisp. The final round was pretty much there.

 

We said our goodbyes and walked back to the airport shuttle bus. As the bus hurtled along the streets out of the city Husband commented that living here would get you down. Perhaps that explained the hard, uncompromising look of the Neopolitan people. Glass clad skyscrapers rose up from what was presumably the business centre, and they looked strangely out of place among the unkempt detritus of the surrounding area. The sun was rising and the day was warming up. The early morning cloud which had been resting on Vesuvius lifted and carried on its journey.

 

We checked in and went through security relatively rapidly. Well, until the man asked if this bag was ours. Although I had been carrying it, it was Husband’s and so I said so. He called Husband over to query a bottle of liquid. It was in fact a jar of truffle paste which seemed to cause no further offence. We were obviously gratified to find hammering and building work in the duty free area. Unlike our trip over, we had a couple of hours to kill before our flight was due to leave. While we waited Husband received a text from Shrek which read ‘79AD. Get in’.

 

 

We arrived back to a cold and frosty England. And the elephant? Well, I left that behind. The elephant is in the room.